


Shadows Saved By Secrecy

by AllTheLokisWelcome7



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: A Love Story Without Romance, Childhood Friends, Familiars, Forbidden Magic, Gen, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Magic With Great Cost, Older Language Usage, Platonic Love, Queerplatonic Relationships, Story within a Story, Vaguely Medieval AU, all hallow's eve, communal living, experimental writing style, forehead kiss, platonic physical intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 14:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21209750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheLokisWelcome7/pseuds/AllTheLokisWelcome7
Summary: The bard strode through the village square, greeting all whom he passed with a wave and a vibrant grin, the echoes of his melody reaching their ears from beneath his breath. No one spoke a word but when his song ended, applause blanketed the village. Zexion watched Demyx leave from behind the gathered crowd, heart heavy but eye fierce as he begged for his friend to be safe.





	Shadows Saved By Secrecy

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this fic came from the second prompt of [this list](https://seasonal-brotp-prompts.tumblr.com/post/180911614428/do-you-have-any-ideas-for-platonic-hurtcomfort-in). Much like that wonderful blog, I aim to bring more platonic love to the world through my writings.

“_Have you ever heard the tale of the sorcerer and the bard?” the villagers would whisper ominously to any travellers that reached their home. The creaking of leather and steel would often follow, the merchants shrugging beneath their equipment, or the guards shaking their mail-garbed heads._

“_Then listen closely, now, because this tale is an important one. It is our history, from only five years ago.”_

* * *

For twenty years, there was a boy who grew well into his role of sorcerer. Even from a young age, the magic in his blood called to him, urging him to follow his fated path.

He rarely uttered a word, preferring to peddle his wares using a raven that spoke for him, ever watchful from its perch. Pebbles pulled from the riverbed to remove curses, potions brewed with mountain herbs to cure ailments, and scrolls containing an ancient script to excel in battle were amongst his most popular sales.

A bard, lured from a distant land by the promise of fortune, arrived in town six years ago. Only one with the Gift could say if he was of magic birth, but his very presence was magical, blessed with wheat-fair hair and a voice sweeter than any bird.

On the day of his arrival, the raven took to the skies, leaving the sorcerer alone for the first time in anyone's memory. Perhaps this was an omen of things to come.

The bard strode through the village square, greeting all whom he passed with a wave and a vibrant grin, the echoes of his melody reaching their ears from beneath his breath. His gaze locked with that of the sorcerer, and immediately he fell still. The trance did not last long however, any spell soon broken by the hefty flap of wings and the raven landing on the table between them, dropping a peculiar stone for its master. As his visible eye fell upon the stone, the sorcerer frowned slightly, taking it between two fingers and examining it carefully.

“Are you sure?” he murmured to his familiar, turning the rock between his palms.

“I am,” the bird answered, startling the bard with its human speech. It always had that effect on outsiders.

His frown grew deeper still, but he set the stone upon the table, lacing his fingers in front of his mouth. When his steely gaze turned upon the bard, the man did not recoil, merely smiled warmly.

“Your name?”

“I go by Demyx,” the bard responded cheerfully.

“Zexion,” the sorcerer returned politely. It was unheard of for Zexion to reveal his name on the first meeting, so the news sent a wave of commotion through the village.

“What brings you here?” the raven asked, bidden by his will. They knew the answer already, as they always did, but the question was a test of character.

“I wish to spread joy across the world,” Demyx supplied. Zexion smirked behind his hands, until the bard continued. “And I seek wealth.”

“You are an honest soul,” the sorcerer said, barely hiding his surprise. “Few would admit to greed or need. But the wealth you seek is not what people envision.”

“I expected no less of one so revered,” Demyx praised, ruffling his own muted-gold hair. “What I seek is not found in coin, but in hearts and minds.”

Zexion nodded his assent, then gestured to the rock between them. “That stone belongs to you, but tell me, do you know why?”

Demyx frowned in thought, weighing the stone in his hand and holding it to the light, before shaking his head sadly.

“It is your heartstone.”

A moment of stillness like the one of their meeting ran through the bard, his jaw slack and his eyebrows raised with shock, then an even greater light than before shone in his eyes. The word meant nothing to observers, but it was clear that the traveller knew something.

“I... I have found it?” Demyx whispered, voice frail with disbelief. “Truly, at long last?”

Once more, Zexion inclined his head.

A ripple of joy ran through him, causing him to bounce onto his toes with an enthusiastic cry.

“Thank you, truly!”

“Be warned,” the raven called, interrupting his celebration. “'Though your heart may be here, so too is the end of your journey.”

Zexion turned to his familiar, his features tightening into a grimace, his eye expressing both surprise and concern. Demyx shifted his lute case across his shoulder, uneasy from the change in mood. For several long seconds, the words had brought him relief, but the sorcerer's reaction upset him.

“Are you alright?” he asked Zexion, genuinely concerned.

He was silent, perhaps communing with his bird, but no less distressed. There was no reply.

“Zexion?”

The sorcerer stood suddenly, knocking his stall in the process. Demyx caught a corner of the cloth, keeping his wares from tumbling to the ground, and stared at him with worry plain on his face.

“You must leave this place,” Zexion cautioned, packing his stock hurriedly. No one had ever seen him so emotive, and the wind surged through the village as the gossip died to stunned silence. “We can send you with charms and torches, but you cannot stay here tonight.”

“Tell me what's going on.”

Zexion paused his rummaging, hands flat on the table holding his weight as he stared up at his client. Not long afterwards, he was in motion again, soon finishing his task.

“I have nothing more to say.”

“But you do,” Demyx pressed, eyebrows knit with the weight of his emotions.

With a great sigh, which seemed to quell the wind howling past shutters, Zexion gazed at him once more, eye softened with an apology.

“If I say all of what you wish me to, your fate is sealed. As such, I will hold my tongue, so that you may yet prevail. I wish you every shred of fortune and fair fate, Demyx.”

He handed the traveller a small pouch which smelled strongly of mushrooms and river sand.

“Place your heartstone into this and wear it around your neck. Do not remove it, no matter what happens.”

Demyx did as he was instructed, hand clasping firmly around the woven pouch.

“Why is my quest so important?” he enquired, voice soft with confusion. “All I would gain is a way to bring more soul into my songs and tales. Making people happy does not require a warning so foreboding.”

“Perhaps not,” Zexion conceded, bowing his head. “But alas, it does require you to be able to tell the tale.”

For a time, the bard had no words, and the curious pair shared a long silence.

“I beseech you, Demyx,” the sorcerer finally continued. “Do not tarry here. Purchase what you need, and make camp as far from here as you are able.”

“I have yet to meet one so serious as you,” the traveller mused, giving him a friendly smile. “I cannot say that I understand all of what you caution. But alas, I thank you, for all that you have provided.”

“You are most welcome,” Zexion replied with a minuscule smile of his own. He took the bard's wrist in greeting, some later insisting that a midnight glimmer passed over it. “Fare thee well, Demyx.”

“Fare thee well, Zexion.”

As the bard began to browse the stalls, the innkeeper ran to the sorcerer.

“What was that about?” she asked, worry bringing a storm to her face. An answer was not expected, but this time it did occur.

“He was born here long ago,” Zexion murmured beneath his hair. “At first, I recognised him not, and for that I am ashamed. But so much has changed since his family left, and all the signs confirm it. 'Though he does not recognise me now, we were inseparable when young.”

“Hold for a moment,” the innkeeper cried, hands clasping together in surprise. “You mean to tell me that that man o'er there was our very own darling Myde?”

The sorcerer shifted his gaze to Demyx, face stricken with grief. Then he closed his eyes and turned away, unwilling to face the oblivious laughter as the bard shared conversation with the armourer.

“The stone my familiar gathered is no ordinary treasure. It held great meaning to us both, and was to be his when we parted. But fate had other plans in store for him, it seems, as thirteen moons passed and our treasure found its way to me. I know not what happened to him, to have lost his memories so, but until his return it would be best for him to not ever know.”

“I understand,” she kindly said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “If he is to learn of his past at all, he shall not hear it from me. That is your burden to carry, I believe.”

“It is,” he quietly thanked her. Save for Myde, she was as close to family as he allowed into his heart, for all that the other villagers cared for him greatly. They suspected that it was because she quite resembled his late mother, 'though none could say for certain.

“Well, I will soon be off!” Demyx announced to the entire square. He climbed atop the bench beside the well, pulling an unusual instrument from his lute case. “But first, allow me to thank you all with song!”

As he played and sang, glorious tunes washing over the crowd, one by one the people became aware, reminded by the sitar. No one spoke a word, their Zexion's reaction fresh in their minds, but when his song was over, the applause blanketed the village, and many hands reached to ruffle his hair or pat his back. For fortune or for relief, none truly knew.

Demyx laughed gleefully, pleased by their affection and praise, but remained oblivious to the meaning. He returned his instrument to its case, then settled his equipment comfortably across his back. Another chorus of cheers ran through the crowd as he waved to them all. Then, just as he had come to the village, he left, humming.

Zexion watched him leave from behind the gathered people, heart heavy but eye fierce as he begged for his friend to be safe.

For three moons, there was nothing, not one word of news. All of Zexion's attempts at scrying or communing were unsuccessful, and the man was quieter than usual. Even the raven rarely spoke during that time, which caused the villagers no end of concern.

Just when the young sorcerer had begun to lose hope, the raven cawed. When he looked up from his stall, he saw the limping form of his friend, his eyebrows singed and clothes charred, with an unpleasant burn tracing his face.

“Demyx!” Zexion cried, hurrying from his chair to meet him.

“Hello, Ienzo,” Demyx laughed tiredly, wrapping his arms about him. A tear found its way to the edge of the sorcerer's eye as he fiercely returned the embrace.

“You remember me.”

“I do,” Demyx whispered, breathing through his own emotions. “My journey was a success.”

“It is good to see you safe.”

“I thought I would breathe my last up there, on that unhappy mountain. I thank you for the charm you gave to me, for it surely saved my life.”

“You need not thank me, so long as you are well.”

Demyx smiled brightly, pulling back to catch his eye. His own were tired, and indeed he could barely stand, but still he was able to glow.

“Please, I beg of you, allow me to repay my debt. Allow me to craft a song for you, and perform it with my heart and soul.”

Zexion remained silent for a long while, pondering his situation, before he grinned as brightly as all had seen only when he was a child.

“Allow me to hasten your recovery, and I will accept your offer.”

The bard's eyes shone and his body relaxed, his joy as clear as day.

“Then we have an agreement.”

Arm in arm they wandered, each pair of feet following the oft-travelled path towards Zexion's hut, until the friends were out of sight and earshot. None know for certain what they spoke about, but it was assumed to be a reliving of days past.

Demyx returned to the square day in and out, singing his collection of ballads. Soon his fair beauty returned to him, his skin healing and hairs regrowing, and his reunion with his home was celebrated for many days to come.

Alas, all could not remain so blessed.

As the weeks grew long, and spring hastened to summer, Demyx fell ill. It was gradual at first, a slight cough between songs, but eventually it became so severe that he could not finish even one. Even more baffling than its cause, however, was that no one else became sick. All too soon, his song was lost to the villagers, his mood slowly worsening as his pleasantries grew fewer.

Zexion had been closing the shop earlier with each passing day, leaving the village to replenish his supplies, until one day, he did not open shop at all. Two days prior, Demyx had collapsed in the summer heat, and had not been seen since the frightened villagers had helped get him home.

After nightfall on the third day, a strange glow emanated from the sorcerer's hut. Its hue was unlike his magic, the red of blood trickling across forest green, instead of his midnight blue. Then a piercing flash like a bolt of lightning tore from the windows, accompanied by a dragon's roar, waking all who had lain asleep in their beds. None dared check on the pair until the night was through.

The friends returned to the square the following day, but there was much unrest. Demyx, for his now-pale pallor, looked healthier than he had since his return, and his smile found him at times. It was a joy short-lived when the people's eyes fell upon their resident healer, who now had a bag beneath his eye that ran darker than even his magic. His gaze was harrowed and unfocused, and his hands trembled slightly. Demyx wrapped his arm around Zexion's shoulders, silently offering support, and the sorcerer leaned gratefully into the gesture.

No one asked what had happened during the night, content to ignore the issue. Only forbidden magic could put such a strain on the user so rapidly. Some of those who could claim they understood Zexion swear now that they knew this would happen. 'Inseparable' did not begin to cover the love that the boys had shared, and Zexion lost himself to his studies when Myde had needed to leave.

* * *

_In truth, perhaps he would not be so skilful now, had fate not separated the pair. Perhaps this story may have had a different ending, had any strange happening been altered. But alas, none can truly say._

“_But what became of them?” the eager listeners often ask. And to that, the answer is the same._

“_We cannot say, for we do not know. A moon after that forbidden night, neither were seen again. Verily, their very hut itself vanished as though it had never been!”_

_We hold them dear to our hearts, for they are our children, and they are heroes unto themselves. We hope that for whichever realm they may find themselves in, they are as loved there as they are here._

_This is the end of our tale, for this is all we know. We thank you for listening so intently, as this is the way in which we honour our fallen and our lost._

* * *

In another forest, filled with an energetic green that bordered gold, a sorcerer and a bard awoke together. Sleepy smiles and contented sighs whispered between them as they held each other close.

“Do you ever wish to go back?” Myde asked, lightly tucking the other's fringe behind his ear.

“On occasion,” Ienzo answered warmly, gently winding his fingers between Myde's. “But we cannot, so I do not dwell on it.”

Myde nodded slowly, endeavouring to not miss his former home.

“You _can _grieve, you know.”

“I know,” the bard murmured, his lips pulling into a warm grin as he rested their foreheads together. “But I won't. I may have been born there, but I had not returned in so long.

“Besides,” he glanced to their woven hands. “You were always my home. More so than any one place.”

Ienzo cast his gaze away, chortling softly beneath his breath. “Travel is to a bard as books are to a mage, I suppose. But if this is your way of telling me that you love me, you certainly picked the time for it.”

“And what about you, hmm?” Myde questioned, sitting up quickly, the woven blankets falling from his sleep tunic. “'If I say all of what you wish me to, your fate is sealed. As such, I will hold my tongue.' Is that not what you said?”

“It is,” Ienzo conceded, a fond smirk lighting both of his eyes before he sat up, and his fringe fell to its place. He rested his palm against his neck, and returned their foreheads to their previous position, closing his eyes with bliss. “And you now know as well as I do that I said that with all of my heart.”

“Oh, about that. I've been meaning to ask you: why did you tell me your name was Zexion?”

“It is the name I took for myself, both to more closely align myself with my studies, and to distance myself from your memory.”

Ienzo leaned away from their embrace and held his hand up, silencing the protest forming at Myde's open maw.

“When your heartstone found its way to me, despite our promises, I feared the worst. No matter how advanced my magic grew, I could never ascertain your whereabouts, or your safety. Holding tight to the hope that I may one day see you again grew too painful to bear.”

Myde reached to bridge the gap between them, gently squeezing Ienzo's shoulder. The sorcerer smiled weakly, daring to gaze into his eyes and gauge his sincerity.

“It saddens me to hear it.”

Ienzo chuckled lightly as a thought struck him, his arm crossing his torso to hold his friend's hand once more.

“To think that the reason for my shortcomings would be the same as how I coped, in that your name had also changed from what it once was... Ironic, is it not?”

“Verily.” Myde's laughter rang vibrantly, soon joined by Ienzo's own. “It gladdens my heart to see you have recovered so well.”

“And you,” Ienzo returned, his gaze warmed by the quirk of his lips. “When you returned to me a second time, ill and exhausted, I could hardly bear it. Worse, when neither my treatments nor my magic could keep it from spreading, I feared that I would truly lose you forever.”

Ienzo wrapped his arms snugly around Myde, burying his face between his neck and his shoulder.

“I was ready to curse my fate.”

“You were ready to die for me,” Myde frowned. Ienzo grimaced in response.

“You would have done the same.”

“Be that as it may, I could have lost you.”

“Never,” the sorcerer smirked, lifting his head suddenly. “If anything had happened to me, you would have been right there throwing my life's work at me to bring me back.”

The bard shook his head slowly, a fond smile seizing his lips as a defeated sigh rushed past them. Even after all this time, they still knew each other well. Knowing this warmed his heart as greatly as their reunion.

“I could bring you something back, Ienzo. Your spell allows us to go back to our world for three nights each year. I can travel with my stories and my songs, and bring you back trinkets and keepsakes.”

Ienzo smiled wistfully, shaking his head slowly. “I fear it does not work like that. When there, we would not have true form. We could speak, listen perhaps, but we could not hold objects long enough to bring them with us. I do not know if we would even keep our faces, or if the people would see us at all.”

Myde grasped both of his friend's hands, bringing them to his chest and squeezing tightly. He leaned in and pressed a reassuring kiss to his forehead.

“We could go in disguise. A cloak or two would never go amiss, and the hoods would shield us from whatever strife our forms may cause. Would you not come with me then?”

Ienzo gazed up at his friend, eyebrow raised thoughtfully. Finally, he acquiesced, bringing their hands to his own heart.

“Very well. Should you acquire such cloaks, I will return to our old world with you.”

No sooner had Myde agreed, the raven dropped two black, leather cloaks on the bed beside them, before alighting on Ienzo's shoulder and rubbing fondly against his neck. He idly reached up to pet her with a finger, his attention turning to the garments as he relaxed to her contented noises.

“Ignis Fatui,” he whispered, smiling at her name and nature. “Thank you.” She ruffled her feathers happily, cawing once before moving to the bedside table.

“Shall we be off then?” Myde asked, grinning widely as he held the cloak he had chosen. Ienzo nodded eagerly, taking the other cloak to a different room so the pair could change in peace.

* * *

Amidst the din of night, blanketed by darkness and the chirps of crickets, a pair of hooded figures walked side by side. As they approached a village, torches lighting its border and the paths within, a villager hurried to greet them.

“Have you ever heard the tale of the sorcerer and the bard?” the inkeeper asked kindly, extending her arms towards them with deep compassion. The pair shook their heads, the leather of their cloaks creaking musically.

“Then have I got a tale for you! Come this way and join the festivities.”

Ienzo and Myde glanced at one another beneath their hoods as they were ushered inside, welcomed as strangers to their hometown. Still, they listened to their tale in silence, pleased to learn that they were still as loved as they were when living amongst the humans. Beneath the table, gloved hands sought one another, the squeeze they gave upon meeting speaking volumes of their shared gratitude and relief.

That their friendship would be spoken of so highly for generations was a greater blessing than either could have hoped would ever come of their sacrifice.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this in June, trying to give myself time for International Friendship Day (July 30), but life happens and here I am submitting it in the month of mystery and magic, so I'll still call that a win.


End file.
